


Flaws

by ColorfulStabwound



Series: The Death of Draco Malfoy [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Childhood Memories, F/M, Fear, Loathing, M/M, Malfoy Manor, Marriage, Second Person, flaws
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-03
Updated: 2014-09-03
Packaged: 2018-02-15 23:01:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2246577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ColorfulStabwound/pseuds/ColorfulStabwound
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s been almost a year since you have returned to the manor, and you are a free man at last. You will be a villain in the eyes of the world for a long time to come, but you are free and home and finally your own person.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Flaws

**Author's Note:**

> Something new...

It’s beneath a clear and glittering London night when you finally break down, right in the middle of your mother’s garden. It’s been a long time since you’ve had an actual moment to yourself and as you sit there, in a huddled mess of anger and despair and regret and fear, you are both thankful and disappointed in fate for allowing you this.

 

It’s been almost a year since you have returned to the manor, and you are a free man at last. You will be a villain in the eyes of the world for a long time to come, but you are free and home and _finally_ your own person.

 

You don’t know why you have come out here; it’s been years since you’ve walked these paths and the memories of the last time are painful reminders of the fleeting years of your youth that you cannot recapture. You see the ghosts of your past wherever you look, ethereal pictures of two boys running and screaming and laughing; one blond and one brunet. You don’t want to see these things; you have always done your best to ignore every thought and memory of him. The hole he left behind hurt, and most of the time you tell yourself that you’ve suffered enough.

 

But not tonight.

 

Slowly you uncurl from the fetal lump that you are curled into, your eyes are glassy with fear and regret and the tears that stain your cheeks feel hot and shameful. No longer are you a man on the verge of your life, but a little boy lost.  Life was easier when you were young enough to not know better, and more than anything you wish you could peel back the pages and return to that time; but you haven’t a time-turner and now you _are_ old enough to know better. 

 

Flat on your back is where you stay, and no matter how you try to avoid them, the stars demand your attention. Looking up at the night sky like this twists the strings of your heart and you ignore the fresh tears that escape the corners of your eyes. You know you can’t see it from here and you would never be able to bring yourself to try, but a part of you can’t help but wonder if he ever looks up at the same sky and searches for the same answers. 

 

You still haven’t forgiven him for leaving. It doesn’t matter to you that you are the reason for your estrangement in the first place. It doesn’t matter that you are the one who pushed him away, right out there on the grass, beneath a night like tonight. He should have tried harder, made you understand, or in the very least not stepped out of your life so permanently like he had. A part of you wanted to chase after him; to curl your fingers around his arm and tug him back. But you hadn’t done that at all and now here you were, hiding from your inevitable future in your mother’s garden.

 

The last couple of months have been a whirlwind for you and you feel sick, like you’ve been riding a merry go-round for too long. You have not seen your mother so happy in a long time. Even your father seems to be coming around, although you feel that his health and his sanity will never be the same again.  The manor is buzzing with excitement and packed with guests. You’ve never seen your family home as full as it is tonight. It’s suffocating and stifling and you tell yourself that is the reason you had come out here in the first place. But it’s not. Not really.

 

You’re on your feet now, traveling down well-worn paths by memory alone. When you reach the topiary you pause, shining eyes immediately moving to the sphinx and regretting it. You try to move and your feet are like dead weight; glued to the spot with a sticking spell you don’t recall casting. You can’t go in there, not now. You tell yourself that actions like these are foolish and serve little purpose and yet here you are, unable to turn away. Finally you are moving and before you can take a breath you are there, standing over the insignificant square of grass that represents so many things to you.

 

Memories of the first time you felt anything for him but indifference flood your mind and your knees buckle beneath the weight. You had told him you hated him right here, and although you would never know it, at that moment you had cast one of the very first scars upon his heart that you would inflict.  You don’t know why you are so focused on him, you still have a few friends left, and you don’t need him. Except that is a lie. You _do_ need him and it will still be a while before you can fully admit that to yourself.

 

The moon has shifted overhead and it is nearing dawn and you desperately cling to the blanket of darkness because you are not quite ready to face the day.

 

The day that would change everything.

 

Soon enough your mother will be searching for you and fussing over the state of your dress and your hair. She will gently scold you for looking like you haven’t slept and attribute it to nerves, and the smile on her face will ease your worries just a little bit. Your insides will be chaos but you will ignore it, like you always do.  This is your destiny, what you were meant to do, and you will do it because that is what is expected of you.

 

When you stand beside one of your best friend’s sister and take her hand in marriage, you tell yourself that you are doing the right thing, even though it feels like you are dying inside. The ceremony passes by and you hardly hear it, your mind is a million miles away; chasing ghosts and recounting moments that you wish you could forget. When you press your lips to those of your new wife you feel nothing but you smile anyways, because that is what you have been taught to do.

 

Every hand that touches you and congratulates you makes you flinch inwardly. You have not associated human touch with pleasantries in a long time and you don’t know how long it will be still before you can. Your friends smile and raise their glasses to you and your mother’s smile cracks at the corners with the knowledge of everything she sees in you. She’s held your hand and guided you to this point and now she worries that you’ll fall apart, but still she smiles on, because that is what she has been taught to do. She knows what she’s asked you to do and all that you’ve sacrificed, and although a small part of her wishes she could let you be the man you want to be, she knows that she cannot. A new marriage and a new life is exactly what this family desperately needs to pick itself back up, and she hopes that in time, you will see that too.

 

You find yourself staring at your new wife from across the room, watching her laugh and carry on like she’s been doing it all of her life and you can’t help but wonder why she married you. It’s painfully clear that you have very little to offer the world, much less a wife, and yet here she is. You resent her just a little bit at that moment, and although you don’t realize it yet, that feeling will never leave you for the duration of your marriage.

 

Another night is upon you and this time you are not running for the garden, even if you kind of wish you were. You are standing on one side of a bed staring at the woman you are now bound to, and the obligation of everything on your shoulders is like an old familiar weight, even if the contents have changed slightly. You tell yourself its just sex, another obligation, and when she smiles tentatively you feel vaguely ill and you excuse yourself with a half-ass apology. She tells you she understands, but inside she wonders what she has gotten herself into. She can clearly see the cracks in you, and although some small part of her may love you, she is not foolish enough to believe that you love her back. 

 

Once again you are running through the dead of night; away from the manor and your problems and your wife. Your head is pounding as hard as your feet upon the ground and the sting in your lungs makes you feel more alive than you have in the past five years. No matter how much you run you will never catch your past and you know that you are running out of time, but you can’t stop.  It’s down at the edge of the water that you realize that your life is _not_ your own and it never will be. The reflection of the moon on the surface of the water is blinding and you squeeze your eyes shut and tell yourself that you will not cry again.  You ask yourself questions that you don’t really want to know the answers to and resist the urge to jump into that icy water and sink to the bottom. Instead, you dig a hole with your bare hands, right there in the softened earth and when you drop every representation of your memories and your childhood into its depths, you tell yourself that it’s for the best.

 

It takes you most of the night to come to terms with yourself and by the time you are making your way back up to the manor you have accepted your fate and your future.  You know that you can’t hide behind your own hang-ups forever, and you tell yourself that you can do this; that you can be the man that your family and your wife and your future needs you to be.  Dawn is stirring at your shoulder and you feel numb inside and you tell yourself that it’s just the cold, but you know otherwise. And you carry on because that is what you’ve been taught to do.


End file.
